Sociology in Cushion Based Combat Zones
by TheErsatzPenguin
Summary: Troy/Britta. Feelings surface after Britta comforts Troy during Pillows and Blankets. Fluff, flangst, Hurt/Comfort.
1. Worse in Black-and-White

**A/N: _Unfortunately, the only photographer there to capture the scene is Britta Perry_. This is the first piece of writing I've posted online. It's set during Pillows and Blankets, Episode 314. In case I didn't make it clear, I thought Troy's text to Abed was brutal and mean. I also expected a little more of Britta's response to the loss of Subway, so I talk about that. If the response is good, I'll post more. I'd love to hear thoughts on this.**

_Sociology in Cushion-Based Combat Zones: A Case Study_

_Snap._

Britta wound the camera after taking what she thought was a black and white picture of Troy crying, but was, in reality, her nose.

She knew she wasn't a very good photographer, even without seeing the images she had "immortalized" on 35-millimeter film. But she had found a camera lying around Greendaleʼs (small, small, pathetically small) Fine Arts department and claimed it as her own to document the developing confrontation between Blanketsburg and Pillowtown.

She let the camera hang on its strap around her neck, limp, as she peeked at Troy face down on a pillow, weeping. She moved back from where she had perched to take the snapshot, watching in silence from behind her thin, flat sheet

Britta knew that she should have turned from where she was crouched, just above Troy's bed, to go take a picture of what sounded like StarBurns and Shirley embroiled in the feathery, down-filled, hypoallergenic brawl of the century, but she couldn't tear herself away from her distraught friend. What was the old saying about a Friend In Need? _A Friend in Need is a Friend in Need_? It definitely rhymed, so that sounded right.

Instead, she watched through the partition as the silhouette of Troy whipped a cell phone out of the pocket of his pajamas and mashed the buttons, clearly angry.

When he slid the phone back in his pocket, Britta expected him to get up and leave, no longer upset. But he recommenced bawling.

Troy cried on a regular basis. Britta knew that. That was part of what drew her to him: Britta perceived Troy as a big, lovable, sometimes ditzy but always-compassionate man-child that she had grown to love. But this time, the tears streaming down his face didn't dissipate; his troubles didn't give way to what Britta assumed were his usual innocent thoughts: Inspector Spacetime, boobs, and the color red. This time, he kept crying, leaving Britta sitting cross-legged on the floor just beyond his quarters, waiting for something to happen, only a foot away from her friend, but feeling as if she were an ocean apart.

_A battlefield photographer without her objectivity is a propaganda artist_, Britta persuaded herself, trying to fight her urge to go to his side.

She tried to convince herself to stay distant and impartial, to document the war without an agenda, to produce only firmly unbiased, matte, black-and-white photographs.

But then it occurred to her that impartiality is a white patriarchal construct, and that by "showing both sides", she was implying that both sides equal merit, even if one was oppressive, which is exactly what the phallocentric hetero-normative eurocentric mass-consumption corporation pigs wanted of her.

She spread the sheets that separated the rest of Blanketsburg from Troy, slipping inside without a word.

"Go away," he said between snuffles, his tone passive. He wouldn't turn to face her.

"Let's talk," Britta said, crawling close to her friend so that they were just few inches apart, "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Troy turned away, his sobbing did not abate. "Please, just leave me alone."

Britta wavered. She considered turning and leaving, knowing that Troy didn't like it when people watched him cry. But she didn't. She kneeled next to him and rubbed his back in a calming, circular motion as he lay, belly down, on a pile of blankets.

"I'm so ashamed," Troy said as Britta rubbed his back.

"Sh, sh, don't talk like that," Britta whispered, rubbing in smooth, rhythmic circles, back and forth, surprised by how soothing her own voice sounded.

"Britta, you never cry," Troy said. He still didn't turn to face the girl kneeling beside him as he asked, "How do you do it? How're you always stronger than everyone else in the group?"

Britta smiled, "I am _not_ stronger than everyone else. I just act strong because..." She trailed off. Her smile faded

Troy sniffled. "Because what?"

"Because I'm afraid, Troy." Britta said. She wished she hadn't brought it up. She crossed her legs as she sat on the pile of blankets, unsure of how to continue.

"What are you afraid of?" Troy didn't move from lying on his side. Britta was vaguely aware that he was still crying, though less so now than when he first read whatever was on the piece of paper.

"I'm afraid that no one likes me."

He still didn't turn to her. She couldn't see his face. She couldn't tell if he was listening, if he was interested, if it would be better for all involved if she just left him alone. That would certainly make it easier. She fidgeted slightly. She hoped for swift judgement, if judgement were to come.

Finally, he whispered, so softly that she was almost unsure she'd heard him say it: "I totally like you."

That made Britta smile again. Gratified, she questioned him: "So, will you tell me what's up?"

Troy reached to pick up the crumpled up sheet of paper next to his sleeping area, handing it to Britta without turning.

Britta stopped her caress to read through the words on the page. Written in Abed's own tone, it detailed the means by which one could distract Troy, his insecurities, and his weaknesses. "Troy, that's awful,"

Troy sniffled again, head turned away, not responding.

"How could he say that to you? Honestly! I know Abed is, well, a little different... but that is just mean!"

"He wasn't lying." Troy muttered, embittered.

"Troy, we all have our weaknesses."

"Not you. You're like... Wonder Britta. If people don't like what you do, you don't care."

Britta chuckled, "That is _not_ true. I don't know why you think I'm so strong. I have as many weaknesses as anyone. I'm feeling pretty weak right now."

"What's wrong?" Troy asked, rolling onto his back to gaze up at Britta's face.

"Recently I lost someone very important to me,"

Troy sat up straight, cheeks still wet. He looked Britta in the eyes before putting his arm around her shoulder and pulling her in close, "I'm sorry."

"His name was Subway, and he was invented by a corporation to represent their 'collective humanity'. And we had sex in Abed's fort. But Pierce and Shirley, they planted a bug on me, and they recorded the whole thing to show to the Subway company, even the weird stuff. And the corporation was so upset, they had him fired."

Troy's brow furrowed. He rubbed Britta's shoulder slightly, wordlessly showing his support.

"No, not fired. They changed his face. They changed his voice. He's unrecognizable now; he's a different man. But the more I think about it, the more it occurs to me, I'm not sure I really loved him."

"Really?" Troy asked. He asked suddenly, his voice tinged with what sounded like... hope? Britta was slightly thrown.

"Maybe I was just caught up with the idea of him. I was in love with the opportunity to be part of some... Orwellian romance. I wanted to taste the forbidden fruit, to make myself feel cool and important and caught up in something relevant, like maybe-" her voice caught. She calmed herself again before she opened her mouth to continue, "Maybe I was still relevant. I think half of what I loved was the risk. Really, I just wanted to be the action heroine in some stupid dystopian novel."

Troy buried his face in Britta's shoulder, still crying, and she hugged him close. "I know, it's sad, but it's okay. Because life goes on. We go on, Troy. Right now, I'm trying to stay strong. Be self-reliant and independent, like I trained myself to be, but really, I am _so_ afraid that what happened to Subway might happen again, to someone else I love. That it would be all my fault. That no one would ever believe me."

They remained in a close embrace as she spoke again. He fell silent as she continued, "I know I shouldn't get worked up. I only knew him for a few days. But we had so much in common, like a sense of social responsibility, and a love of Orwell's _1984_, and we shared dreams of non-profit animal hospitals... and I did things with him that I've never done with anyone in my life."

Troy stroked her hair, keeping her in a tight hug. He was no longer crying. Instead, he whispered in her ear. "There will always be a guy for you, Britta, because you're so pretty. And some guys, they'll be even more crazy about you because they know that you're not just pretty... you're smart, and funny, and The Worst—but in the best possible way—and a great dancer who likes men with pain, and that you have a one-eyed cat you got Lasik for, because you really care about animals," Troy said. He went on, emboldened, perhaps, by Britta's demure smile, and perhaps by the way she glanced away, a lock of hair falling in front of her eyes as she tried to hide how happy he was making her.

"And maybe someday you might go out with a guy who thought that the _animals_ ran the Animal Hospital until he was 22 years old. Who hasn't even read _1984_. Who cries during a pillow fight. Who really, _really_ likes you, even if he doesn't say it sometimes, because he's trying to convince himself you're The Worst in case you don't like him back."

Britta pulled away from the embrace to get a good look at the sincerity of Troy's face. She had been teaching herself not to cry since she was eleven years old. She crossed her arms, tucking her hands under her armpits to stop them from shaking, steeling her posture like Troy would have back when he played football. She chewed her lower lip, trying to keep from screwing up her face. She simply faced Troy. He wasn't sobbing anymore, he was just smiling at her. He grinned broadly, looking fairly goofy in his sports pajamas while still bearing an embarrassed expression from his confession . She wasn't going to cry. She wasn't going to make an idiot of herself in front of a younger man who was _very_emotionally vulnerable. She wouldn't start moaning the name of a _sandwich chain_, of all things, like a fool. She wouldn't , she couldn't!

"Subway," Britta wailed, as she collapsed into Troy's arms, body racked with each sob, "Subway!"

Now it was Troy's turn to comfort, Troy's turn to rub his friend's back, and stroke her hair, and whisper in her ear that it was all going to be okay.

"It's all my fault, Troy, it's all my fault, _I _did that to him, it was me!"

"Britta, it wasn't your fault," Troy said, voice soothing. Britta wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling his hair as she cried into his shoulder, eyes red.

She tried to keep her lips from turning down, attempted to stop the flushing in her cheeks, right her posture, push the bloodshot redness from her eyes, remove the puffiness from her cheeks. She contemplated pulling away from the hug, hiding her face in her hands, maybe just running away and never coming back. Anything to avoid being seen crying.

Britta had nothing but bad memories associated with her own tears. Memories of her eleventh birthday party, and crying to the owner of the restaurant, begging him to believe her, because she was telling the truth, and no one would listen.

And she remembered what happened, as clear as day. As she clutched the fabric of Troy's orange pajama shirt in her hands, her father's words rattled around in her brain, _"Britta, you are a big girl. Big girls do not make up stories, and they do not cry at their eleventh birthday party. So dry those tears, and stop inventing these tall tales. It is not polite to try to get this nice man in trouble. After you apologize, you go play Pin the Tail on the Donkey with your friends and stop bothering the adults, or next year, you will not have a birthday party, and you will not be getting that Rollerblade Barbie you asked for!"_

No one had believed her then. No one had stroked her hair, or hugged her, or whispered in her ear. She had learned a very grownup lesson very early: she couldn't rely on any man—or any _person, _for that matter—because people didn't believe her. People threatened to take away her stupid, chauvinistic toys, and they told her to save her emotions for herself, and not to bother the world with her problems.

And if her own father didn't believe her then, why would anyone ever believe something as farfetched as the Subway story?

For a few moments, as she cried, she worried that Troy would be the same as every other man. _Oh God, _she thought, _he's thinks I'm stupid!_

But this time was different. She felt Troy's warm breath on her back, she heard him telling her how much he believed her, and how much he cared about her, how it wasn't her fault and how he would always look out for her.

After a while, it stopped feeling like a weakness, a dirty little secret to bury under activism and stony-faced indignation, and every tear she cried became a symbol of letting go. Letting go of being "The Worst", and letting go of Subway, and letting go of her eleventh birthday party.

And as she let go, it became easier to stop crying. When she quit trying to force herself to a stop, she actually found that it happened easily. As if a weight had been lifted, as if the sun had come out, as if the world was finally in full color instead of her dull black-and-white. Finally, she sighed in relief. Hell, she even _giggled_ as her face broke into a grin. Giggling was not a sensation Britta Perry was accustomed to. Yet, as she broke away from Troy, Britta couldn't keep from smiling at him.

"You know what? You shouldn't be insecure about your level of intelligence. Just because you don't get good grades, and you don't necessarily have book smarts, doesn't mean you're not the most intelligent person I know,"

Britta could swear she saw Troy's face fall, "Britta, I-"

"What's wrong, Troy?"

"I just sent something really horrible to Abed," Troy said. He wasn't going to cry again, but his ordinarily happy face appeared ashamed. He glanced away, frowning. He sighed.

"I'm sure that's not-"

"No, I did. I sent him a text, and it was- just read it." Troy fished the phone out of the pocket of his jammies and pressed it into her hand.

Britta filtered through the sent box of Troy's text messages until she found his scathing response to Abed's e-mail.

As she started to read through his words, her brow furrowed, and she gasped, and when she finished, she folded her hands in her lap, looking at Troy with concern.

"I'll understand if you just want to leave," Troy said, crestfallen.

"Troy, " Britta mumbled, in numb disbelief, "How could you?"

"I know, alright!? I screwed up, and I hurt Abed way worse than he hurt me. You don't need to remind me,"

Britta slipped the phone into his hands, sitting there facing him. She held his youthful, pained face in her soft, pale hand. She eyed the cool darkness of his features, gazing at the pain in his eyes and trying to decipher whether or not it was a color she'd seen on him before.

"I just wanted to make him feel like he made me feel," Troy admitted, looking away, "I didn't want him to know how much power he had over me."

"You know how fragile Abed is," Britta said, "He needs to be taken care of. And sometimes, he'll do things that hurt you, because his personality and his high level of intelligence don't always fit together perfectly, but... you just have to forgive him. You can't let your hurt get the better of you. A big part of giving a human being that much power over you is being able to forgive them when they screw up."

"I guess," Troy said, showing a slight frown.

"And you're right: you are by _far_ the most patient with him out of the study group, just because you spend the most time with him. You two hang out so much that you need a certain amount of patience."

Britta stopped for a moment, and chewed her lower lip. She could tell that Troy was still upset, but she was unsure whether with Abed or himself. It wasn't that she _wanted_ him to be upset. She wanted him to be happy more than anything. But wasn't _actualized_ happiness better than superficial, blissful-ignorance happiness?

She went on, "Troy, we all blow up. You can tell yourself that he provoked you, and you wouldn't be lying. But before you say things like that, just think about the person provoking you, and how much you love him. He's special. He's highly breakable. He hurt you, he did something really, _really_ crappy. But two wrongs don't make a left." Britta concluded her speech triumphantly, unaware that she had Britta'd one of the most cliché clichés of all time.

"Britta, he just told _StarBurns, Leonard and Magnitude_how easy it is to distract me! He made me look like a colossal idiot! Friends don't just _throw_ that stuff around like it's nothing!"

Britta sighed, "I'm not going to defend what he did to you. But you're so close to Abed because you're a naturally caring person. You have his back because, in this world, out of all these people, you two found each other. And you became the most important part of his life, and he became the most important part of your life. He screwed up. You screwed up. But you both _love each other!_ Isn't that what it's all about?"

"He doesn't _love_ me. He loves Troy, his Labrador Retriever. He loves his Troy Soldier, who takes orders and knows when to shut his mouth. He loves his dumb sidekick, his Robin, his-" Troy hesitated, "His Constable Reggie. He doesn't love the Troy that actually stands up for himself, who wants to do Troy things instead of just Abed things all the time."

"Just listen to yourself! Friendship isn't a competition, it doesn't matter which activities you do more, it matters how ridiculously fun doing that stuff is!"

"But we could have fun doing my stuff," Troy whispered.

"Troy, I hate to say it, but when you and I were in High School, we were at the top of the heap, the Popular Kids, the final word on being cool. We got to do whatever we wanted with whoever we wanted for at least six years. Abed has _never_ had that. He's never had any friend as long as he's had you, you said it yourself. If you'd only ever done what you'd wanted to do, you never would have changed. You'd probably still be wearing that dopey letterman jacket, dating dumb girls all over campus, making the same mistakes you made in High School. But because you did what Abed wanted, you changed. You _can_ change. Abed, he's not as good at it. That's not easy for you. But it's good for him. He needs you. He just has a hard time saying it."

Troy held his fixed gaze on the girl's face. His expression didn't break from its meditation, even as he spoke. "Thanks, Britta."

Britta pulled him into another hug. Thoughts of Greendale's botched commercial and the twelve hours of hugging that wasn't good enough to end racism rattling around in her mind.

He hugged her back.

"So are you going to apologize to Abed?" she asked.

"If he apologizes first."

Britta sighed. "Come on. Sometimes you just need to be the bigger man."

"I can't, Britta. I just told you, the whole reason I'm doing this stupid war is because of something the Vice Dean said, about how I'm Abed's 'lap dog', and how I'll always just do whatever he wants because I'm not smart enough to think for myself. And I'm sick of it. Sometimes I want to do my own thing. Why does Abed get to have his own side adventures, but I can't? I know what I did was wrong. I just want to know that Abed knows he was wrong, too. Sometimes it's hard for him to tell. But I need him to know this time."

"Troy, Vice Dean Layborne is manipulating you! He knows that the only thing keeping you out of the A/C repair school is Abed, and that's why he's trying to plant that in your mind, to tear you guys apart so you go running right into his trap!"

Troy glanced away. "Abed may be the biggest thing keeping me from the A/C school, but he isn't the only thing."

Britta looked confused as she opened her mouth to question him.

He spoke, before she could, stopping her in her tracks. "I could never leave you."

She felt strangely pleased, filled up, valued. To be held, by Troy, in such high esteem as Abed? It was the ultimate praise. Her jaw dropped in slight surprise. "Me?" she asked, her voice sounding strangled, feeling dumb.

Troy nodded, still not turning to face her, voice dark, "You."

She wanted to turn and run, and tell him that she was bad news, damaged goods, more baggage than an airplane cargo hold, that he could do better, that she would ruin him like she ruined Subway and almost every other man she'd been with. She was a ruiner. She might as well start a ruiners club, but it would be doomed from the start: she would just ruin it, like she ruined everything else.

"You deserve better." Britta said. Her chest tightened. She was reminded of when she would go climbing with her parents as a child and she climbed too high too fast.

Troy shook his head, "No I don't. It doesn't get any better than you, Britta,"

The shocked feeling came back. She was sure he didn't mean that; he was confused, and frightened. Without his best friend, his judgment was skewed. It was the only logical explanation.

They stared at each other with earnestness as Troy awaited her response. She felt herself leaning closer and closer to him, and before she could sort out her tangled feelings, he was kissing her.

Her mind, previously dark with thoughts of Troy and Abed and Subway, went blank. Her limbs went slack. She melted into his hold, feeling his hair with her hands, learning that hands didn't go through curly hair very well, her face flushing as she breathed in his taste (bacon and eggs), her lips against his.

But instead, Britta pulled away. "Wait: before we do this, you need to apologize to Abed."

In seeing the way his expression hardened again, Britta feared as though she'd made a mistake, done something wrong. A sickening feeling was beginning to creep into her stomach, a feeling of being judged as she had been by every other man in her life. She felt stupid and inconsequential._ What does it mean that the same person that can make you feel great can also make you feel crappy? This is the WORST!_

His tone was firm as he said, "No. Didn't he make it clear enough in that email that he doesn't need me anymore? That I'm stupid, and easily-distracted, and 'emotionally frail'? Isn't that what he told his new best friend, StarBurns?"

"But... Troy," Britta said, hurt, "It's the right thing to do!"

Troy didn't face her as he shook his head. "Tell that to _him_."

Did her words mean nothing to him? How could he ignore her after they'd just kissed as they had? After he'd told her, in no uncertain terms, how great she was? She refused to believe that Troy would kiss her only to blow off her advice and ignore his best friend. It wasn't like him at all. She bit her lower lip as they locked eyes, "Well then I guess you don't care about me- about us. We can talk when you come to your senses. I have pictures to take."

And with that, Britta turned and crawled away, filled with passionate feelings in combinations she couldn't describe. Her lust and her anger. Her pain and her embarrassment. Her head swam as she passed through the blanket partition.

Britta fought her urge to look back as she crawled away on her hands and knees, feeling like a child, leaving Troy behind her, almost definitely worse off than before she'd appeared in front of him.

As she pushed past a pair of Blanketsburg soldiers playing cards, Britta felt as if the world were, once again, dull, cold, black-and-white.


	2. To The Summit and Back

Chapter Two: The Summit

_"Amazi-i-ing grace! How sweet the sound!"_ sang Tammy, a finalist on the 2-hour finale of _Ski, Shoot, Sing_, as she fired her assault rifle. Her bullet buried itself at the centre of the target.

Troy glared at the screen. He was among Blanketsburg recruits, swaddled in warm blankets yet still trying to shake the cold that clung to him as it had when he returned from the Summit Meeting nearly half an hour before.

It didn't make any sense that he could be surrounded by people who were on his side and still feel so alone, so out of touch. Usually, at times like this, he would seek out Abed, but that was out of the question. Abed had made it perfectly clear that their friendship was over.

And then there was Britta. Beautiful, awesome Britta, with her blurry photos and golden hair and lips that tasted like cherries and a body that looked so unbelievably hot in black theatre clothes. Britta, who was The Worst, who liked knitting for her cats and kissing guys named after sandwich chains. Britta, who always smelled nice, who always listened, who had kissed Troy Barnes twice in her life, which was, in Troy's opinion, nowhere near enough.

Britta was out of the question. He couldn't talk to Britta, not now, not yet. But when he won? When Greendale was his, when he ruled the campus? Maybe then he would be good enough for her. Maybe then Abed would never have to know how he crushed Troy like a dragonfly under a heavy book.

Troy pulled off the blankets he had bundled himself in. He looked from face to determined face, each contentedly watching. Everyone was as happy as he usually was. But not tonight. Tonight, he crawled away from the happy people. He crawled into a tunnel, leaving Blanketsburg Theatre behind him. He turned right at the intersection of Dean Pelton Memorial Boulevard and LeVar Burton Avenue on the second floor of Greendale's library. He felt so desperately alone. He could be in the middle of Greendale Galleria on Black Friday and he'd still feel alone. He missed Abed. He missed Britta. The rest of the study group was off doing their own thing. There was no one to talk to.

He left the tunnel just above the stairwell and pulled himself to a stand. He cracked his back, did a stretch, and headed downstairs. In areas like the stairwell, where they weren't allowed to build forts—"for fire reasons" as the Dean had said—the ownership of the territory was denoted by flags and stickers and big photos.

He looked at the poster of his own face on the opposite wall as he trotted down the stairs, not having any particular direction. It was a nice photo. He was wearing a determined expression and his finest blanket hat as he stared off into the distance.

He turned away and started down the next flight of stairs.

It wasn't that he didn't feel awful about not apologizing to Abed, he felt _terrible_. Abed was his best friend. He couldn't stand not having him around. Abed was special, like a snowflake, or a great movie, and Troy knew that.

But he couldn't shake Abed's words. No matter where he went, he'd still be holding on to them. It was something he'd been told his whole life, an insecurity he tried to brush off. His teachers, his parents, his "friends", everyone said it at some point. He'd always thought Abed was different. He guessed that he was wrong.

Usually when it happened, when he heard a whisper about how stupid he was, he tried to pretend that he didn't care. And usually he didn't. He had a lot going for him. A great study group. A nice apartment. A best friend that he could trust with anything, a best friend with whom he could lie awake all night, talking about anything in the world in hushed, secretive whispers and sharing best-friend chuckles.

And he screwed it all up. He should never have sent that text.

He didn't want to apologize, no matter how powerful his regret. Was that childish? Probably. But _Abed_ never had to apologize. How was that fair? It didn't make any-

"Troy?"

As Troy looked up to face the person in front of him, he suddenly realized that he was standing in the middle of Greendale's parking lot.

"Jeff? What are you doing here?" Troy asked. He glanced at Jeff's face. From a distance, everything looked normal. But up close? Tiredness, frustration, maybe even... sadness? His stubbly face. His tired eyes. It didn't take a genius to tell Jeff Winger hadn't been sleeping.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Jeff shot Troy a questioning look, one eyebrow raised, bearing a lopsided smirk.

"I- I don't know." Troy said. His voice wavered, reflecting the uncertainty that filled him. He shivered against the cold, realizing too late that he was clothed only in his thin cotton jammies. He hugged himself close, trying to hold onto his body heat, feeling like a lost puppy. Or a lost lapdog. "I should go back inside, I guess."

Jeff's face softened. He slipped his hand into his pocket and produced some keys, dangling them in front of Troy's face. "Want to talk?"

Troy was skeptical. He glanced back at the school, trying to craft an excuse so that he could be alone with his thoughts, free to sort out his complicated feelings. Maybe he could just scream '_My emotions! My emotions!' _until Jeff left him alone. It had worked once before.

"You can drive."

Troy's eyes flitted over to Jeff's jet-black Lexus, with the sleek, leather seats, the powerful steering and easy brakes. He allowed his mind to wander back to the night of his 21st birthday, the first and only time he got behind the wheel of that car. Of course, it was also the night Jeff stuck his tongue down Britta's throat, the night they had all contributed to the intoxication of a minor, the night Troy was the chauffeur for a gang of drunk friends... but still, that car... it made it all worth while.

"Deal." Troy clapped his hands together around the keys, enveloping them in his dark hands. He pressed down on the small lock button and the lights flashed. Troy wandered towards the car, eyes not turning from its sleek features, grateful to finally have somewhere to go, or at least grateful for the ability to go nowhere faster. Jeff followed behind him.

Troy felt the cool touch of the handle as he opened the door. He slipped inside and pulled the door shut after him. He buckled his seatbelt, slid the key in the ignition and started the car, the engine roaring to life like a vicious mountain lion.

Jeff had backed into the parking spot, so Troy could just drive out. He adjusted the mirror and glanced at Jeff, who looked nervous, maybe at the prospect of some _kid_ driving his precious car.

Then, Troy gently pressed down on the acceleration, and they were off.

"Where are we going?" Jeff asked.

"There's this place I used to go to in high school," Troy said.

Jeff nodded. Troy put on the indicator and merged smoothly with traffic.

They sat in silence. Troy didn't mind. Jeff's car was an awesome machine, and that was all the company he needed.

"So, what's up?" Jeff asked, staring out the windshield.

"You know." Troy said, sounding as sullen as he felt.

"You and Abed, huh?" Jeff asked, his expression knowing and sympathetic.

Troy nodded, driving through the green light, heading north. Maybe he should just drive to Denver and never go back. _Would that be kidnapping?_ He gripped the wheel loosely, shuffling his posture. He felt... tired. For someone who'd been in his pajamas for the past few days, he hadn't gotten much sleep. He just wanted everything to go back to normal. And if 'normal' involved a world where he could be with Britta? That would be even better.

"Listen, Troy, it'll work itself out. Abed will come to his senses at about the same time as you do, and you guys will be fine. You'll be Troy and Abed again. You'll be vodka and gin, scotch and soda—"

"Peanut butter and jelly," Troy concluded, finally understanding as he rounded the corner and slipped up to the new speed limit.

"Exactly." Jeff said. "Friendship isn't supposed to be easy, but you and Abed? You've got a good thing going. I think it'll take a little more than a _pillow fight_ to tear you apart."

Troy frowned, noticing a lawn ornament that looked like a duck, "You think?"

"Absolutely. The summit meeting was a little... off-book, but next time? It'll be different. You guys'll work this out. You always have, and you always will. You're soul mates."

"Cool," Troy said, mulling this over. He turned right, down the open road, his mind feeling the littlest bit lighter.

Silence settled over the car again as Troy steered the car down the road ahead. On the horizon, a tall-but-welcoming hill rose high above the town of Greendale. The college was already on the outskirts, meaning that the drive to Greendale Hill wasn't a long one.

It was a drive Troy remembered well, a drive he'd made many times before, in crappier cars with beautiful cheerleaders. He liked it because it had the corkscrew path. He could just drive in circles, but he always ended up high above the city, free to gaze out at the horizon and put the whole world into perspective.

"Didn't you used to live in Riverside?" Jeff asked.

"Yeah," Troy said, "But I used to drive out to Greendale sometimes for, uh, privacy."

Jeff nodded. Troy heard a buzzing, and then Jeff produced his phone and started texting.

Troy's thoughts turned to Britta. He thought about how good her hair felt, and how much he wanted to kiss her again. For longer. Just to know someone was really there, just to make another connection, and feel her closeness, and to help her know that she wasn't alone. And if their kiss went further? Maybe Britta was in her theatre clothes again, maybe she was grabbing him by the front of his shirt—a little more roughly than he would have figured—and pulling him towards the bedroom where they could-

He licked his lips, realizing that he had broken a sweat. The air in the car was comfortable, from the heat circulating through the car's A/C system. Feeling the warm breeze of the car's tiny vents made him think of the A/C School, and what they would do to get what they wanted.

He turned right, easing Jeff's Lexus up the shallow incline.

"Hey, Jeff?"

"Yeah, buddy?" Jeff turned to him. Jeff's face looked less pensive, but his tone still felt distant and weary.

"Have you ever thought about..." Troy trailed off. He swallowed, feeling Jeff's eyes on him. He wasn't sure how to continue, if he should continue, or if he should just make something up and put it behind them. But he didn't. He took a deep breath and asked, "Me and Britta?"

Jeff turned from Troy and glanced out the window. Troy noted the growing view of the twinkling lights of Greendale, Colorado on this unseasonably cool, pristinely clear night.

"Have _you_?" Jeff asked, tactfully, turning the question around. The lawyer in him was rearing his head.

"Lately?" Troy asked, looking at the flat asphalt ahead of him, bathed in the glow of his headlights." All the time."

"Troy, I'm going to tell you what I told you on the night of your 21st birthday: that woman is a_ hurricane_."

Troy narrowed his eyes as he contemplated this. Reckless, wild, natural, leaving devastation and chaos in her wake, destroying everything she touches, with little to no control over it, yet at the same time, almost beautiful in her chaos. Just when things were getting too calm, she swept in and threw everything up in the air again. That was Britta. Britta was a hurricane.

Then it occurred to Troy that Jeff had uttered those words during the year that he and Britta were having secret sex in spite of the group's urging, and he frowned.

"I made out with her. In my fort." Troy confessed.

Troy turned the wheel slightly and chanced a glance at Jeff's reaction: first shock, then... annoyance? Displeasure? It was something that involved a scowl, and the slightest narrowing of the eyes. And before Troy could even be sure he noticed it, Jeff had put on his best look of blithe disinterest. He smirked, his eyes looking slick.

Troy glanced back at the road, awaiting Jeff's response, disconcerted by how easily the older man could command his own emotions.

"Wowee. Shouldn't you save some of the juice for Girl's Night?" Jeff mocked.

"C'mon, Jeff, this is serious," Troy said, frowning. Typical Winger.

"Yeah, golly gee, sounds real serious. You _kissed_ _a_ _girl_, should you ask her to prom? What if she has the cooties?" Jeff continued to mock.

Troy turned away and sat in stony silence. _He's just jealous._ "I wouldn't expect you to get it."

"Troy, relax. What happened, happened. People kiss all the time. People are kissing right now. Right as I'm saying this, somewhere in the world, people are kissing. It doesn't always mean something, and it isn't always foreshadowing." Jeff crossed his arms.

"But what if it is?" Troy asked, "What if we're meant to be together? What if this is just a sign?"

"Woah up there, cowboy. You and Britta aren't exactly renowned for thinking things through. It was an impulse, I don't think it'll amount to much of anything." Jeff said, raising his eyebrows to indicate his amusement at the very idea.

Troy furrowed his brow as he rounded the final turn on the route to the top of Greendale Hill. The rest was just a slow, steady, straight, inclined road. What if Jeff was right? They weren't meant to be, they were just... testing the waters? Keeping warm?

The thought made him feel very, very alone.

But what if Jeff was _wrong_? What if he was just a jealous, nervous, sneaky, threatened lawyer trying to eat all the donuts and win the heart of every girl on campus? What if he still wanted Britta for himself? In Wingerworld, Troy and Abed were children and Pierce was an irrelevant old man. But if Troy could get Britta, and get her for good? If Troy could do what he'd been trying to do since his first study group meeting? Troy was a threat, an adult.

And that freaked Jeff out. The whole balance of power was shifting, and Winger couldn't stand it. Jeff was trying to persuade Troy that Britta was out of the question so that he could hold onto the throne, so that he could be the center of attention for the rest of their time at Greendale.

"I really like Britta," Troy said.

"I'm sure you do," Jeff said, voice dripping with patronization, "And I bet she likes you back."

"She _does_. Well, not right now. She's kind of pissed at me," Troy said, turning, thinking about what he _should_ have said to make her stay, and how much farther they could have gone, and what her tongue would have felt like... elsewhere.

"Why, did she see you holding hands with Becky from Biology? Now you definitely have to ask her to prom!"

Troy slammed on the breaks, startling Jeff and giving himself a nasty case of whiplash, "It's not funny, Jeff! I thought I could talk to you!" Troy said, frustrated.

"And I thought I could trust you not to destroy my brakes!" Jeff shot back.

Troy didn't move the car, "I'm a grownup, Jeff! I'm a man! I'm not a little kid that you can laugh at and kick around!"

"Really, Troy, you're _not_ a little kid? You want my 'grownup' opinion, you want me to tell you something 'man-to-man'?! _Grow the hell up and ask Britta out!_ Either you like each other, or you don't! Stop trying to turn our study group into an episode of _Glee_! You want me to stop pretending that you're in high school? Stop acting like you're in high school! Honestly, you are behaving like a _child!_ Can you not remember the _massive_ temper tantrum you and Abed threw not half an hour ago? You're two allegedly 'grown' men who are having a _pillow fight _over possession of a blanket fort! You want to know why Britta wants you to apologize, you want to know why she wants this _stupid _war to be over? Because the sooner it's over, the sooner she can STOP being your mother and START being your girlfriend!"

Troy sat in stunned silence, listening to Jeff's heated words. He moved his foot to the acceleration and eased the car back into a steady cruise. Jeff's words had shaken him. Troy couldn't respond right away. He was wordless as he listened to the sound of Jeff's breathing.

He hadn't driven this way since he was _actually_ in high school, since he was actually a kid, with quarterback problems not unlike these.

He was awash with his own immaturity.

Britta was an adult. She was an awesome, sexual woman who was figuring things out, and how was he acting in return? Like some kid that she had to take care of.

"Damn," Troy said.

"Look, Troy, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-" Jeff started, having regained his composure.

"No, don't," Troy said, "I needed to hear it."

Jeff turned to Troy and started to smile, "You're growing up Troy. Just like Annie, and even Abed. You're all growing up. But that doesn't mean you're there yet. It's all part of a process that _I'm_ still figuring out. Hell, Pierce isn't even a grownup and he predates agriculture. I think the big secret about growing up is, we're never _really _there. There'll always be a little kid inside us that wants to jump on the swings at the park, or play make believe. But I think 'maturity' means picking the right times to be an adult, and the right times to be a kid."

Troy rounded one last corner, "We're almost there, Jeff."

"Yeah," Jeff said, "We're all changing and growing, and the world may seem-"

"No, Jeff, we're almost to this cool place I used to go to," Troy explained, smiling. Remembrances of time gone by, when he was a star, when Riverside High was his, when the world was at the feet that Britta once called 'long and stupid' usually uplifted him, but tonight, he felt different.

He was still glad to be there, glad to see the big tree where he'd gotten to third base for the first time, glad to see the cars full of teenagers having a good time, because it made him realize how far he'd come. He wasn't one of those kids: he was driving a Lexus. He was talking to someone who used to be a lawyer. He had his whole life ahead of him, and even though he didn't quite know where he was going, he had an idea. He had an apartment, and friends, and a girl who maybe, possibly, in his wildest dreams liked him.

He pulled up just behind the railing and parked the car. "Here we are," he said, "Celibacy Point, named by the Greendale Town Council in 1957. Ironically, the year after it opened, there was a rash of teenage pregnancies in Greendale and the surrounding areas."

"You really know your history," Jeff said, grinning, though he didn't take his eyes from the view.

"Yeah, there's a plaque," Troy explained, "Though I never used to come here to read, if you know what I mean,"

Jeff chuckled, "Back when you were T-Bone?"

Troy raised his eyebrows. He hadn't been called that in years. Hearing it made him cringe. "Yeah... back then."

The duo sat in silence for a while, as they looked out at the city of Greendale. The lights were bright in some parts. L Street, where a few of Greendale's hippest bars could be found, was glowing far below. Across the town, at City College, the lights were off, but around Greendale Community College, they were on, glowing for the whole world to see.

Troy looked at the little patch of lights in the college area, and thought about his friends. Shirley was singing Ben to sleep over her cell phone. Annie was healing the sick. Pierce was probably trapped in his suit of pillows, going berserker on a bunch of pre-teens. Abed was poring over one of Garret's big maps of Greendale from his Advanced Cartography, plotting his victory, never worrying whether or not it would be worth it.

And Britta. He wondered what photos she was taking, and whether or not they were any good. Maybe she wasn't at Greendale at all. Maybe she'd gone home, to sleep, or drink, or drink herself to sleep. Poor Britta. By now she was probably sifting through ways she could "let him down easy". The idea made him feel guilty, because he'd put her in that position, he'd forced his feelings on her and now she was caught up in problems that weren't her own.

"Hey, Troy... do you ever think... maybe it's a good idea to keep a journal?"

"I don't know," Troy said, staring out at Greendale, rubbing his face, "It depends on how many people you can be honest with. I've never needed to write anything down because I've always had someone I could trust."

"Right," Jeff said. And then they fell silent again.

The drive back to campus was longer, because they sat in a tranquil, contemplative stillness while Troy pondered the hand he'd been dealt. Things seemed bleak, but his talk with Jeff had done something to clear his mind. He knew what he had to do now.

He had to fight. He had to win. And then, maybe he could be the man Britta deserved. The man that kept her up at night, the man that she burned for, the man that filled her mind and shared her bed and could afford to pay for a nice dinner. The kind of man she could be proud of. He could be her hero, her champion, her Black White Knight.

Troy mulled this over as he pulled back into a parking space at Greendale, shifting into 'Park'. He killed the engine and handed the keys to Jeff, "Thanks for the talk."

"No sweat, buddy. Try to get some sleep."

"You too, man." Troy gave a friendly wave. Jeff nodded, smiling at his friend. Troy wondered if this was how Jeff acted with all his grownup friends.

Troy closed the car door after him. He yawned a sleepy yawn, eyelids heavy, feeling as if a good night's rest could be the greatest thing in the world.

The air seemed even colder after coming from the warm, climate-controlled Lexus. He tucked his hands into his pockets as he crossed the lot, leaving Jeff to drive home alone.

As he walked towards the school, fixating on the warm lights radiating from the library, he wasn't really thinking of anything. His mind was pleasantly blank. It didn't dwell on any one thought in particular. He was all over the place. Light and free like a cloud wrapped in a hug. The way he felt when he was kissing Britta. Like things were really, _really_ great. Like the world could only get better.

Then he bumped into Shirley on the steps of the library.

"Troy," she said, pressing a sheet of paper into his hands, "Our code breakers have intercepted a correspondence from Abed to Leonard: dawn tomorrow, in the cafeteria. Pillowtown _will_ attack."

"We've already diverted our attention to the Library and North Hall. A war on two fronts is more than enough, it wouldn't be wise to split our efforts further unless-"

"Perhaps I wasn't clear," Shirley said, her tone as bleak as her words, "The war _will_ end in the Cafeteria tomorrow. Abed's going for a Hail Mary pass,"

Troy's expression turned pensive as he mulled this over, "Send all of our troops to the Blanketsburg outpost in the Cafeteria. First thing tomorrow, we will wage war. And we will _not_ stop until Pillowtown crumbles."

**A/N: The title of Chapter One is a lyric from "Kodachrome" by Paul Simon. I'd like to thank those who reviewed Chapter One, I really appreciated your advice. I know I was supposed to make things **_**better**_** in Chapter Two, but I might have Britta'd it a little... I promise there'll be a happy ending! Keep reading, your reviews really are appreciated!**


	3. Unsung Angels

Chapter 3: Unsung Angels

"Garret, initiate Protocol Omega," Shirley commanded, pushing a few of the little blue blocks across a map of Greendale.

"But, General Bennett, it's too soon! I should confer with President Barnes before-"

"Troy is otherwise occupied at the moment, Garret. I _said_ initiate the Protocol." Shirley laid a finger on the map of the cafeteria, tapping it to indicate her plan.

"Ay ay, General," Garret said, before bowing to Shirley and waddling away, wheezing heavily.

Shirley stared at the map, adjusting the blanket sash she wore over her shoulder. It was a proud synbol of her allegiance to Blanketsburg. She moved a few of the blocks from the gym to the Cafeteria, and then moved a few of the opposing red blocks.

Her brow creased in concentration as she shifted the little pieces.

Shirley knew that she was a little old to be pillow fighting. She was, after all, a mother of three, a devoted wife and a devout Christian woman in her late 30s. But still, was it so wrong to ask for a little bit of fun during her college years? Age _was_ just a number. Hell, Pierce was doing it, and she was certainly younger than Pierce.

Suddenly, Shirley became aware of the sound of approaching footsteps. She spun around to face the figure behind her, hoisting her pillow in preparation for attack.

But it wasn't an enemy saboteur, as she'd expected, but a sheepish blonde girl holding a camera. "Hi,"

"Oh! Hello, Brit-ta!" Shirley cooed, relief rushing over her. She was _tired._ She was in no mood to whoop Leonard's butt, not tonight. It was closing in on 2 AM, and most of Blanketsburg High Command was fast asleep, Troy included. _Lord knows, that boy has enough on his mind without me disturbing him._

"How's it going?" Britta asked, looking around Command as she cautiously stepped forward.

"Can't complain," Shirley responded, lowering her pillow as she approached Britta, "What about you?"

"Ugh, don't get me started. Can you talk now? Are you busy?" Britta asked, eyes still flitting about the room.

Shirley looked at the girl with concern. Britta's expression was turbulent and unsure of herself. Her eyes were rimmed with dark, her hair was a mess, she wore a profoundly gloomy expression. She looked exhausted.

"I have some time. Sit down," Shirley gestured to the beanbag chairs in the corner of Command, usually reserved for meetings with Troy. But Troy was out like a light and Shirley was assured he wouldn't mind.

Britta obliged, shuffling over to the chairs and plopping down in one of them. Shirley lowered herself daintily into the other, adjusting her blanket crown as she faced Britta with her most caring smile.

"What's on your mind?" Shirley asked, knowing that the question she posed could take some time to answer.

"Look, I know you're not going to approve of this, or whatever, but I don't know who else to talk to. Annie's busy, and I just need to hear a woman's voice." Britta said.

"Go on," Shirley urged, fearing the worst.

"I made out with Troy." Britta admitted.

Shirley looked at the girl and blinked, trying to decide on her reaction. Should she become Christian Shirley, the one who made sure everyone behaved themselves, the one who took her family to Church every Sunday, the one who disapproved of the googly-eyed barbarians in her study group?

And then she could be Cool Shirley, the Shirley who wasn't much older than Britta, who didn't _need_ to be a mother figure. The Shirley who liked pillow-fighting and gossip and bathroom chats, the Shirley Bennett who Britta could always trust.

"Oh my!" Shirley allowed a smile to cross her lips. She was in the mood for a little gossip tonight."Tell me _everything_."

"That was _not_ the reaction I was expecting," Britta said, surprised.

"It's not like you did something sinful! What harm's a little smooch?" Shirley asked, smiling at the girl facing her, "We all _kiss_, Britta. I think, if that's as far as you went, that there's nothing to be ashamed of." she said, confident in her assessment.

"Yeah, I guess you're right!" Britta said.

"Unless you put him on the weed. In which case, I'm going to have to object. You know what, why don't you just let me take a little peek in the pockets of that vest of yours for marijuana, just to be sure you didn't get him high and seduce him with your wicked ways." Shirley suggested, her Christian side coming out as she pointed to Britta's vest.

Britta rolled her eyes, "Jeez, Shirley, what do you think I am? I'm not a monster. Troy's a good guy. He was crying about Abed's email, and I went into comfort him, and then he just... kissed me. That's all."

"Oh," Shirley said, appraising Britta's words.

"It's not like I haven't made out with him before," Britta said, "There was the time we were in acting class together. But this time felt so much more... real."

"Oh?" Shirley asked, urging Britta on. She was overtaken with a sick curiosity she couldn't hide.

"Yeah. I felt like we had a real connection, like I could really trust him," Britta admitted.

"So what are you going to do? I mean, I could go wake him up, but-"

"No, don't," Britta interrupted, "That's what I needed to talk to you about."

_Uh oh._ This was what Shirley was worried about: the dark side. It wasn't the googly-eyed shenanigans that irritated Shirley Bennett, it was the messy, sloppy hurt feelings that they led to. Well, that, and pre-marital sex. Now, because of some little kiss, Troy was going to get his young heart broken at the hands of the emotionally mature Britta.

"After we made out, I told him that we could go... _further_ if he called off the war and apologized to Abed. And he said no, so I left."

"Oh no!" Shirley frowned. "Why would he apologize to Abed? Did you _see_ the mean email Abed sent him?"

"Yeah, did _you_ see the text Troy sent Abed?" Britta asked.

Shirley shook her head, fearing the worst.

"It was... terrible." Britta said, "I just want them to be friends again. Will you help me?"

Troy and Abed were like Shirley's children. They were very important to her. She hated seeing them fight. But at the same time, she thought of the whole reason she was doing this, she thought of what she'd told Andre: _Abed hurt Troy's feelings by being a robot. I need to stay with my boy to make sure Britta doesn't put him on the weed._

Well, at least now she could be sure that Britta wouldn't get Troy high and take advantage of him, but still, she worried that Abed had gone too far. It wasn't an equal partnership, as Shirley saw it. In her opinion, he was simpler than Abed. It was Shirley's job to make sure that Troy was looked after.

"I'm sorry, Britta. I made a promise. I have to look out for Troy. And you should to," Shirley said. It seemed only sensible that Britta should ally herself with Troy. And yet she chose not to.

"But Shirley! How can you say that? The best way you can look out for Troy is by making sure he stays friends with Abed! Don't you know that?" Britta responded. Her arms were spread, palms up, shoulders shrugging as she questioned Shirley. Her tone felt aggressive.

Shirley shook her head, "This war will be over before you know it. The Dean sent out a memo to High Command on both sides: the Guinness rep will be here at noon tomorrow. After that, there'll be no reason to keep this up."

"Or so you think," Britta said, sounding almost conspiratorial as she glanced around, "Who's to say that Troy and Abed won't just keep fighting? Just because they aren't smacking each other with pillows, doesn't mean everything will go back to being Peachyville."

"Britta, about an hour ago, I ran into Troy on the steps of the library. That boy was _broken_. He's hurting, Britta. Just give the both of them time to find themselves. They'll figure out how much they need each other. Conflict is key to building a stronger relationship. You'll see."

"How can you be so sure?" Britta frowned. She gazed at Shirley head on, arms crossed.

"I just know, Britta. Think about Troy and Abed. Have they ever held grudges?"

Britta shook her head.

"The worst thing we can do now is interfere. They'll get over it. They always have, and they always will. They're Troy and Abed."

"I guess you're right."

Shirley smiled warmly, "That's nice!"

There was a lull in the conversation. Britta sat in awkward, self-aware silence. Shirley felt as though she had to get something off of her chest before she and Britta continued their discussion, and she chose her words carefully: "Listen, Britta: I never got the chance to apologize for using you like I did. Pierce, he just got to me. I didn't want to plant that bug on you, I didn't want to get Subway in trouble, but... I just went a little crazy. I know I shouldn't be making excuses, I just... I need to know... will you ever forgive me?"

Shirley could see Britta hesitate. Britta looked her Shirley right in the eyes as she spoke quietly, "It wasn't just that you guys invaded my privacy; because of what you did, I lost someone I _really_ cared about—someone I trusted—and an innocent man was punished. Of course I forgive you... but I hope you understand how much you hurt me."

"I know, Britta, and I'm sorry!" Shirley said, clutching her pillow tightly. She felt awful about what she'd done, really she did. Taking advantage of Britta's misguided nature and her past troubles with men? The fact that she herself could be so needlessly cruel worried and startled her. Shirley feared every day that the beast lying dormant inside her would awaken, and that she would be powerless to control her sinful rage. But wasn't that why she found Jesus in the first place? That she might find something to guide her through her own misdeeds, so that she may seek forgiveness for her inevitable transgressions in His light? "I shouldn't have done what I did to you. I just want you to know that I feel horrible about it."

Britta looked downwards, and Shirley tried to follow her line of sight. "Of course I forgive you, Shirley. You're awesome. I know we might have times where we get at each other's throats because there's some junk we don't agree about, but... I really care about you."

Shirley's eyes widened as she thought about this. She felt torn up about what she'd done: Pierce had lured her into it, but still, she could have said 'no'. She hadn't been thinking, and because of what she'd done, Britta had gotten hurt. No matter how hard she tried to rationalize her behaviour, she was only making excuses for something inexcusable. She'd done Britta wrong, any way she cut it.

"Britta, I'm so sor-ry," Shirley chimed, "I really am. I won't make excuses. I'm just glad you can see fit to forgive me. That's very _Christian_ of you."

Britta spread her arms and beckoned Shirley in for a hug, smiling a lopsided smile, and Shirley happily obliged. The pair leaned together and hugged the other close. Shirley felt strangely relieved by her confession and apology. As the hug broke apart, she was smiling. But Britta still wore a frown.

"So let's talk about you and Troy." Shirley said, trying to turn Britta's frown upside down. And if a natural side effect of that was leading her down the road to acceptance in the Lord's arms, well, so be it! But for now, she had to get to the bottom of the complicated, murky barrel that was the mind of Britta Perry.

Britta nodded reluctantly. She rubbed the nape of her neck, not meeting Shirley's glance. "I just... I feel so many things, things I never thought Troy could make me feel. Shirley, I am _so _much older than him. I would ruin him for good. That adorable kid, with those big, brown eyes? I would warp him until he's just as screwed up as I am! Dear God, I'd turn him into _Jeff! Jeff_, Shirley, _Jeff_! How could I ever live with myself?"

Shirley listened patiently to Britta's worries, facing her head-on, keeping an even expression as she did so. She had to admit, they were worries she shared. It wasn't that she had a problem with older women dating younger men. She had a problem with a younger Troy dating an older Britta. To say she hadn't worried about what Britta would teach Troy would be a lie.

She worried about Troy dating Britta just like she worried about Annie dating Jeff. The group's impressionable youngsters, they had to be looked out for. And wasn't that her job? Wasn't she the only one in the group who could ensure that the moral tapestry of her fragile group didn't unravel like a blanket of _sin_?

But then Shirley was awakened to a realization: her existence wasn't centered around guiding other people. She was her own person. If anything, she was conditioned by the media to believe that, as a woman of color, she was the predestined cosmic guide to those wayward youths. And, really, was she _that_ great a role model? She'd made her share of bad mistakes. Why, when she was Troy's age, she certainly wasn't thinking about her future...

_But that just means it's my job to keep them from going down the path I did!_

Shirley thought quickly about what she could say to comfort Britta while remaining true to her values. And the more she chewed it over, thinking about the way she'd behaved in the past, the more she realized a few things.

"Listen up, Britta, because I'm about to get real: Troy is not a child. He is a full grown man. You're using words like 'kid' to make him _seem_ off limits because you're afraid you actually like another human being enough to commit to something! Aren't you and I just as clueless as the 20-year-olds in our study group? Just because we're a little older, that doesn't mean we have to be perfect."

Britta remained silent, staring at Shirley's face, expression unwaveringly downcast. Her Nordic features turned down slightly. Shirley continued.

"But that being said, you know more than you give yourself credit for. You are a smart, independent woman! Sure, you have problems, but don't we all? If we all didn't have our problems, well then _why_ on God's Bountiful Green Earth would we be going to school at _Greendale?_ This is a messed up place! Today a 40-year-old man with facial hair shaved into star shapes got his ass handed to him by a devoted Christian mother of three. During a _pillow_ _fight_. On a _working Wednesday._"

This seemed to amuse and embolden Britta. Her eyes took on a determined expression, her mouth set but curved into a shallow smile. Shirley continued.

"Troy can make his _own_ decisions. I think I need to learn that just as much as you do. And Britta Perry, Troy has chosen you. I know you're scared. You've dated some _bad_ men, Britta, and they've changed you. I'm not saying you need to be 'rescued' by some guy who teaches you to love again. I like to think that you, as a woman, are self confident enough to fix your heaps of personal problems by yourself. You and Troy, do what you've got to do. Don't worry about 'fixing' yourself, or trying to break some imaginary chain of bad men you've dated. You don't need a man to do that for you. You have power over your own decisions and interests.

"_Live a little. _Do what makes you happy. Grab hold of Troy and don't let go! Just keep in mind that this will be the _only_ time I will encourage you to lead a very impressionable young man into your coven of sex and weed."

Britta was grinning now, "Shirley, thank you so much!"

Shirley wasn't quite ready to get all huggy-huggy yet. She crossed her arms. She had a point to drive home: "But Britta, make no mistake: if you steer that boy wrong, I will _snap you like a twig_. He'll be whatever man you want him to be, but you have to be the woman he deserves."

"God Damn, Shirley, when did you get so insightful!?" Britta asked, coursing a hand through her wavy hair.

"I've always been insightful! You all just don't listen to me!" Shirley rubbed the Cross around her neck, shaking her head, "I don't know if it's because I'm a little older, or if it's a racial matter, or if I just can't get a word in between you... _Sexy McSexertons_, but I think if you listened to me more, things wouldn't have to be so damn complicated!"

Britta smiled at that, "I love you, Shirley. I know Annie and I sort of have a whole sister thing going for us, but I've always thought of you as a sort of a sister as well..."

Shirley beamed, "Yay! Britta, you have no idea how happy that makes me!"

Britta beamed back at her, "I never had a sister, Shirley. It makes me happy, too!"

The pair gazed at each other, and Shirley felt, in that moment, a very real happiness. She'd always been Jealous of the way Britta and Annie seemed to have such a simple back-and-forth. She missed her old closeness with Britta. It seemed to Shirley more and more that she was being pushed aside to make room for the young and exciting.

It was a worry that she thought about often: the world was run by the young. More and more, the world seemed to forget about Shirley Bennett.

She decided that she liked girl-talk with Britta. Even though Britta preferred talking about the situation in Syria, animal rights, or Dystopian literature, often times Shirley was content to talk about the little things. Even if that was outside of the realm of Britta's interests. "So what are you going to do about Troy?"

"I don't know. Should I ask him out, or should I just wait?" Britta looked slightly conflicted again, her forehead lined with uncertainty. But still, she seemed happier now, and somehow more energized than when she first entered Blanketsburg HQ.

"Britta, I live my life by a _code_. 'Think of others before yourself, but always be true to what you believe in.' I never do something just to please everyone else. Because you can't please everyone. You just have to do whatever you think is right." Shirley explained.

"So you're saying that I need to decide by my own code?" Britta asked, blinking at Shirley, eyes vacant and unsure.

"Exactly!" Shirley said, "If you want to be with Troy, be with Troy. If you need some time, take some time. Troy isn't going anywhere, and neither are you."

"That's true," Britta mused, "I guess I never really thought about it that way before. I just felt like... I was forced into this corner, this 'decide or die' mentality. But if I want to, I can wait."

Shirley smiled at her. As much as she didn't like participating in the stereotype by which she as a black woman existed to guide white people through the twists and turns of their 'complicated' romantic universes, she did like the feeling that came from helping Britta out as a close friend of hers. Even if it _was_ problematic.

As Shirley saw it, there was nothing wrong with making sure that the defiant —and less-than-gifted in the mental areas—went in the right direction. She wasn't meddlesome; she was a _guiding light_.

"Do you have any idea what you're going to decide?" Shirley pried, more for the sake of curiosity than anything else.

"I think I'm going to let him make the move," Britta said. She quickly added, "Not because I subscribe to the sexist, historically damning concept of male chivalry, not because I'm a frail, powerless woman who needs a _strong man_ to make up my mind for me, or I rely on some 'nice-guy hero' to save me from my bad judgement, but because I honestly don't know. I'll think it over, and then I guess we'll have some stupid 'open conversation' about junk."

Shirley nodded, "That sounds like a good idea."

Britta yawned, holding a hand over her mouth as it widened and closed. Shirley smiled, "You should sleep."

"You too," Britta said, "God, I don't know why I'm still here."

"I could give you a ride home," Shirley offered, "Or, I could escort you to the barracks."

Britta grinned, "'Barracks'. Honestly, you'd think this were a real war."

Shirley's face hardened as she looked at Britta, "This _is_ a real war."

Britta backed off, raising her hands in a surrendering gesture, "My bad. I think I'll just curl up somewhere private, like a bathroom stall. I'm not in the mood to go across town."

Shirley gave Britta a knowing gaze. It was _awfully_ late. And there was only so much coffee someone could reasonably drink before they were running on fumes and adrenaline.

The thought made Shirley cringe; she would be paying for these carefree nights in the coming days. A woman of her years, in her position, could only go on like this for so long without an inevitable _crash and burn_. She had to take care of her children, and her husband. She had school to focus on. She was a woman with _responsibilities_. She was _supposed_ to be at Community College to learn how to launch a small business, and now she was whacking 80-year-old men with pillows and helping 22-year-olds fight each other, all the while guiding 30-something white ladies down the path to 'landing a man'?

"Britta, am I too old to be doing this?" she asked, her voice quiet; her tone meek.

"What? Of course not. This whole situation is crazy, but we're all crazy enough to make it work. That's why we're here. Greendale fits our crazy just right. You're never too old for Greendale." Britta said, offering a smile. Shirley wondered if Britta knew how profound her words were, or if it was a stroke of pure, unadulterated luck.

Shirley contemplated Britta's words as she gently touched her hair, in its blanket crown, "'You're never too old for Greendale.'"

Britta smiled a small smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before she rubbed her eyes wearily. "Goodnight, Shirley."

"Goodnight, Brit-ta."

Britta pulled herself to a stand and sauntered out. Shirley detected the tiniest trace of a spring in the girl's tired step. Her dreamy face seemed contemplative tonight. Her back seemed straighter. She looked as if she'd just figured something out.

Shirley turned to face the empty beanbag chair opposite her as Britta slipped through the sheets and out of Shirley's sight. _Finally some quiet time._

Well, not completely quiet. The thin sheets that separated the different pathways and quarters of Blanketsburg weren't designed with sound insulation in mind. From Troy's private area next door, she heard contented snoring, and she allowed herself a small smile.

From its hiding place underneath the beanbag chair, Shirley brought out her purse and opened it up. She tucked the toothbrush to the side; she had taken care of her nightly businesses a half hour ago. For that moment, she had other matters to attend to.

Shirley produced her phone and pressed a button. The screen sprang to life. On the background she could see her family: Andre, Elijah, Jordan, Ben, smiling happily at the park. They were all asleep by now.

Shirley Bennett's universe was very much a calm place. Her children, her husband, safe in bed, covered up, cozy. All the world was in its blissful, sleepy daze.

Shirley let out a dainty yawn, covering her mouth. She clasped her purse shut, leaning into the comfortable hold of the enveloping beanbag chair.

She closed her eyes, that she, like all of Greendale, could sleep. Alone with her dreams, letting the day sort itself out in its own special way, squirreling the memories away at the back of her mind. They could stay awake in Pillowtown, if they so desired. Shirley Bennett needed her beauty rest, thank you very much.

As she closed her eyes, welcome relief rushing over her exhausted mind and body, she could almost swear she heard the tiniest of mumbles from the room next door. Troy's quiet, sleeping words that had interrupted his snores every now and again for the past hour he'd been asleep. If Shirley didn't know any better, she would have sworn he'd said _'Britta'_.

But she couldn't be sure.

And before she had time to think about it, silence fell again. Troy's snoring, and the snoring of all of the other Blanketsburg recruits seemed a lifetime away. As Shirley found herself giving into the beckoning embrace of sleep, she could feel that once more, if only for a few short hours, Greendale was very much at peace.

**A/N: Finally, a chapter with a happy ending! I always liked the way Shirley is sort of protective of Troy. It's sweet how motherly she is towards all of the younger group members (Troy, Abed, Annie). For this chapter, I actually contemplated having Britta talk to Annie, but Britta and Shirley have a relationship that I really love. As always, feedback would be tremendous! Lots of thanks to everyone who's been reviewing so far! Your advice and words are so totally appreciated! **


	4. A Farewell to Pillows

Sociology in Cushion Based Combat Zones

Chapter 4: A Farewell to Arms

_Snap._

It ended as it had begun; a less-than-secret handshake between two inseparable friends and a promise they made.

Troy heard the click of Britta's film camera. He turned to her, if only for a moment, but she shook her head, as if telling him to go, to be with the one who needed him most.

Troy glanced away, looking back to Abed. Abed was smiling as broadly as he ever did. Together, side by side, they left the cafeteria. They weren't perfect, but they were as close to perfection as any friendship could ever be. And wasn't that good enough?

"Want to watch _Apocalypse Now_?" Abed asked, "I'm in the mood for a _war_ movie."

"Yeah, totally," Troy was happy to comply.

As they walked through the hallway, Abed pointed out a flyer, "The carnival is coming to town."

"I love the carnival! We should go together."

"Cool. Cool, cool, cool."

The sound of his friend's unique monotone put Troy at ease.

But suddenly, at the sound of sprinting footsteps, Troy turned around. Annie was sprinting towards them, with Britta standing in down the hallway trying to summon her back with frustrated, embarrassed gestures.

"Abed!" Annie called, "Abed, I need to talk to you!"

"Troy and I were going to go watch a movie. Do we need to do this now?" Abed asked, tilting his head as he gave Annie a disinterested onceover.

"Yeah, we do! Troy, can I have a word with Abed, in private?" Annie asked.

Troy nodded, grinning lopsidedly. "Sure thing."

* * *

Annie tucked her hands around Abed's arm, and Abed shot her a confused look. He felt unusually emotional. His whole life, he'd been called "emotionally shallow", "robotic", and "empty", both by those who didn't understand him and those who understood him the most.

Now, he was awash with feelings he couldn't express. Perhaps, above all, was satisfaction: he and Troy were back to their relative normal. That was a sweetness beyond description. The knowledge that he was on solid ground again, safe and secure, protected from harm, was refreshing indeed.

His satisfaction was, however, was bridled by frustration. First of all, he was incapable of conveying to Troy the tremendous sense of relief he received from their reignited friendship. The fact that he could never reciprocate the physicality, the apparent empathy that Troy oozed, frustrated Abed.

Often, he felt as if the world were alien to him. Surrounded by people with ways that seemed hard to understand, using the same words to mean a million different things, pulled ten thousand directions at once. People were easier when they were archetypical. Classifying people based on what he knew helped him to understand people as well as he could understand television.

His frustration was only furthered by Annie pulling him away before he and Troy got the chance to talk.

He was certain that Annie had only the best intentions, but her timing felt wrong. Now was the time for he and Troy to drive the DeLorean back to 1985, take off in a flying car as their friends waved goodbye, accept the trophy for their high school break-dance team. Now was the time for their resolution.

Annie was kind of throwing him a curveball as she pulled him around the corner. "What are you doing?"

"Abed! Britta and Troy are having a _moment_! I thought it would be nice to let them resolve some things before you guys hang out."

Abed shot Annie a nervous look, "Britta and Troy?"

No, no. It was all wrong. Those two, they weren't supposed to have chemistry. They were destined to be at odds. His saga would end with Jeff and Britta as his alpha couple. They would be the first, the last, the _only_.

Annie nodded, filled with glee, "Jeff told me _everything_! Apparently they were making out in Troy's fort!"

Abed chewed his lower lip. This was moving too fast. It was the locomotive from Back to the Future Three (decidedly disappointing, in Abed's less-than-humble opinion), and time was running out.

Where was the build up? A great movie couldn't start with the climax, his life was a sitcom, not _Memento_. The audience needed to have expectations for the expectations to pay off.

Maybe if there'd been a little more introduction, if the tease had been better. It felt forced. Inserted. The writers had wedged Troy and Britta into the plot, and Abed couldn't understand why.

"Annie, you're playing with fire. I don't think you understand how delicate the balance here is," Abed explained.

Annie rolled her eyes, wandering down the hall on Abed's arm, the pillow fort having collapsed on this side. "Oh, just be happy for them! There's no need to be dramatic. Nothing will change."

Abed freed himself from Annie's grasp and ran a hand through his hair, pacing nervously. He wagged his finger in contemplation, a motion he'd seen from his grandfather many times. "This is all wrong."

Annie let out an indignant gasp that Abed took to mean 'shock'. "How can you say that? How can a relationship that pure and sweet be 'wrong'!?"

Abed glanced at Annie furtively, "Annie, there are just some things you don't understand."

Annie crossed her arms, "So I'm _stupid_? Listen, Abed, I am _just _as in-tune with group dynamics as you are."

He knew that he had to tread lightly. "That's not what I'm saying. Some things just don't work. Maybe they're good ideas, but they fail in execution, like the Star Wars Prequels. And some things fail so spectacularly that they destroy everything they touch, like Kingdom of the Crystal Skull."

Annie was silent and stunned, leaving Abed and room to continue: "Troy and Britta are a ticking time-bomb. They'll ruin through the group like Kickpuncher kickpunching the Invincibillium safe into pieces. They might look 'cute' now, but in 8 months, when you're trying to alter a wedding dress to fit over Britta's baby bump with your hook hand, and Shirley's a drunk, and Chang's run off with the Dean, and Cyborg!Pierce is helping Troy pick out a formal eye patch, and Jeff's on the first train out of town, you may not see the appeal."

Annie looked confusedly at Abed, "Is this more of that timeline stuff, from the housewarming party!? That's absurd, Abed, none of that is going to happen! How exactly did I lose my _hand_? Plus, Pierce can barely use his phone, let alone survive as a cyborg_._ And in no universe is Chang going to kidnap the Dean!"

Abed spoke carefully, "We'll see what happens when the darkness falls."

Annie smiled at him, "Abed, just trust me. I know what I'm doing."

The unfamiliar, the unknown, unmarked territory... all of it was putting him on edge. "Please, just promise you won't meddle anymore."

Annie stared up at him, and Abed tried to comprehend her expression, but could not. "I can't promise that, Abed. But things have a way of working out. Just relax."

Abed nodded softly. He wasn't completely ready to entrust the fate of the only friends he'd ever had into Annie's hands, but still, he could allow her an iota of trust. He owed her that. Perhaps Annie, with complexity to rival his own, could have insights he did not understand.

Annie offered him a bemused gaze, "Why don't we get some coffee? You must be exhausted."

Abed permitted himself a small smile as he offered her his arm. On the off chance he was wrong, if it was true that Troy and Britta wouldn't be the group's ruination, then they might actually make a good pairing. Above all, he wanted happiness for his friends.

And so, it was with uncertainty that he took Annie's arm and headed back to the ruined cafeteria for a cup of coffee.

He was confident that Troy and Britta wouldn't amount to much of anything, but if he did, perhaps it was time for him to... let things go their course. To take the good with the bad, to adapt to change without premeditation, as it happened, unprepared.

Abed pondered the future of his group of friends. He acted only with the their best interests in mind. He wanted only to preserve the sanctity of the study group. Dating from within was dangerous. There was a link between bad luck dating from within.

Abed was certain that any pairing from within the group would bring about bad blood.

Although, it could be worse: Troy could be dating an _original character_. Someone from outside the canon of his universe, a Mary Sue who served only to further her own interests.

At least Abed could trust Britta. He knew her. He knew that she cared just as much for the group as he did. She, too, feared being alone. She, too, could love Troy.

In his opinion, anyway, Brita was not the worst girl for Troy.

He'd just need time to accept it.

"Troy's not going anywhere, Abed. I know that." Annie said, rubbing Abed's arm.

Abed nodded, slightly. Perhaps after consulting some sitcoms, drawing from a few B-Movies for wisdom, he'd know what to do. But for the time being, he'd be better off in wait. Observing, as he always did.

"Chin up," Annie said, smiling warmly, "I'll always be here for you. No matter what."

And Abed smiled back at her.

* * *

Troy looked back down the hall where Britta tried—and failed, judging by the angle of the camera—to take a still photo of a payphone. He took off towards her, only vaguely aware of Abed and Annie rounding the corner.

Britta slung the camera over her shoulder by its strap. "Troy!" she exclaimed, facing him, her smile radiant. She spread her arms in anticipation of Troy's embrace.

He swept her up in a bear hug, lifting her off her feet, and she squeezed him back. His hands locked together as they slipped down to the small of her back. Her fingers met together behind his neck, and she rested her head on his shoulder, breathing deeply, holding the orange cotton of his pajama shirt, unintentionally tickling him ever so slightly.

From the cafeteria, he heard music playing: _Oh-oh, dream weaver! I believe you can get me through the night!_

"Pierce, would you turn that off?" Britta called over Troy's shoulder.

"Sorry," Pierce entered the hallway, plugging a headset into his iPhone and silencing the Prog Rock stylings of Gary Wright. He walked away, but not before checking out the pair and smirking to himself.

After Pierce had rounded the corner, Troy whispered into Britta's ear, feeling like a very big little kid."Hi, Britta,"

She tilted her head, and before Troy was sure it was happening, her hands had left his back. She grabbed him by the front of his shirt—a little more roughly than he would have figured—and pulled his lips to hers.

Troy's eyes widened. He tried to hold a thought together that would dissuade him from doing what he was doing, but he couldn't. It felt too right. She didn't relinquish her grip on him. She tilted her head slightly, leaning into his hold. Finally, after a moment, he gave into the rightness of it all, his eyes closing, the shock having worn off.

He felt light and free and happy, and in that moment, his mind defaulted to its naturally upbeat blankness. All he could think about was how she still tasted like sweet cherries, and how her hair smelled so nice, and how great her butt felt, and what a phenomenal kisser she was.

He felt her warmth: she was there. She would always be there. He'd never have to go without her, never yearn for her, never have to worry about peeking up from his Biology text book and seeing anything other than the gorgeous blonde girl, studying away at her notes, lost in thought.

Finally, she broke away, leaving Troy standing in front of her, his hands dropping back to his sides.

She released his shirt, beaming at him, clearly proud of herself.

"You were right," he said. He smiled. His mind felt clear, and empty. No longer was he the commander of an army: he was Troy again. Just Troy. Happy, unreserved, and thoroughly free. Just the way he liked it.

She beamed back at him, pumping her fist in the air in celebration, "Nailed it!"

He hesitated slightly. He furrowed his brow. For a reason he couldn't quite wrap his head around, even after all was forgiven, there was still a speck at the back of his conscience, a miniscule, ambiguous patch of darkness that killed his buzz. The kind of worry that would keep him up at night, mind running wild, if he didn't clear the air.

"What's the matter?" Britta asked, her smile fading slightly.

"I'm sorry." Troy said, though he was not sure what for. Perhaps it was the way that he had refused her advice. Maybe it was the way he'd kissed her, only to let her get away from him. Maybe he was sorry for calling her the opposite of Batman. Maybe he was sorry for inventing a traumatic experience just so he could manipulate her love of the emotionally damaged, into making her love _him_.

Maybe he was sorry for not kissing her long before. Maybe his only regret, his only misdeed, his only mistake was that he hadn't made his move sooner. Maybe he was just upset that he'd let her slip through his fingers. Because every second that he couldn't be hers was a second wasted.

"It's okay," Britta said, smiling. Her face showed that she forgave him absolutely, or perhaps that she didn't understand his apology at all. Maybe she'd just forgotten how good it felt to be on the receiving end of an apology, instead of the one apologizing. The thought made Troy sad.

He felt as if he could finally put it together what he felt badly about. "I'm sorry I didn't listen to you. I'm sorry I never told you how much I care about you."

Her breath caught slightly, perhaps a tiny gasp, a fluttering within her that Troy took as a very good sign. A sign that she cared too, more than words could say.

She peered up at him, eyes big. She looked adorable that way, he thought. Like she was caught in the rain without an umbrella. The littlest bit surprised, but it would pass. Because she could stand under his umbrella.

Or maybe they didn't need one. Maybe they could kiss in the rain. Like in every bad movie Annie made him watch, he could kiss Britta in the rain. In the middle of the night, where the only thing above them was the faint, unearthly glow of a streetlight, the rain would wet his hair, and splash off his coat, and catch in her lashes, so that he couldn't tell if the wetness on her cheek was the rain or her tears, and he'd run to her—because he needed her more than she needed him—and he'd kiss her in the rain.

"Th-thank you." she said, finally.

That little dark spot grew, slightly, with her modest appreciations. The knot in his stomach tightened, like he'd had too much of a giant cookie. And then he remembered last night's epiphany.

His meeting with Jeff had driven something home, and the cogs and wheels of his mind churned and whirred, until he'd reached a conclusion.

"But... I've been thinking," Troy said. His tone was darker now. His posture had shifted slightly.

"Uh oh." Britta gazed at him with concern in her tired eyes.

"It's nothing bad," Troy said, quickly, "It's just... this whole war taught me a lesson. About how I still act like a kid. I have to grow up before I could ever deserve a girl like you."

"Troy, you're perfect," Britta said, cupping Troy's face in her hands, "You aren't too young for me. You're just right, just the way you are."

Her words made Troy's response more difficult than he could have imagined. But still, he committed himself to his message, forcing himself not to waver as he answered her. He forced himself to recite the speech he'd written the previous night, the speech that he'd practiced over and over again in his mind. The speech that was pushed from his head by a dream, a dream the details of which he wouldn't disclose in mixed company.

"Think about it, Britta: I still have a lot to learn. Maybe that seems really appealing to you right now. You like the idea of being needed. We all do.

"But it wouldn't take long before you were sick of it, before you were so pissed off you couldn't put up with me anymore. I need some time to become the man you deserve. Before we can be legit..." he paused. Jeff's words rattled around in his brain. "I need to stop being your kid, and start being your boyfriend. A real boyfriend, who does real boyfriend things, like pick you up from the dentist and beat up guys who are mean to you. Maybe, when I grow up a little, and I think we have a shot at something... real, we can be together. But until then? I'll just have to wait for you."

He smiled weakly, glancing away before looking at the pain in her eyes, feeling the coolness of her hand against his cheek. She looked fazed. Saddened but understanding. She was so, so beautiful. He wanted her so badly.

But he was committed to change. Britta needed something stable. Sure, she loved his energy. She loved the idea of having someone naïve so she would always be relied on. That's why she liked her cats. Troy did not need to rid himself of those features. He needed to gain wisdom.

Britta stroked his face with soft hands, as she had less than 24 hours before. "I'll wait for you, too, Troy. Because I don't think you realize how far you've already come."

Troy smiled at her. "Thanks, Britta."

She pulled her hands back to hold up her camera, and she took a picture of him. He was smiling, a small, guilty sort of smile, with big eyes. Britta must have liked that face. Troy thought it might actually make a half decent picture, but then again, her hand was blocking half of the lens.

She let the camera rest over her shoulder and peered at him, as if deciding something. Troy opened his mouth to say something, but she spoke before he got the chance: "Wait," Britta said, "There's something I want to give you."

And with that, she locked her hands together around his back, leaned in, and kissed him.

He felt her hands, cool, rubbing his back. He coursed his own hands through her hair, brushing past the rough fabric of her photography vest as the two shared a moment of unbridled passion, eyes closed, heads tilted, so perfectly in sync.

Troy could wait for Britta. She was worth waiting for. She was exactly what he needed. They would be together, he was sure of it.

He wanted to cheer. He was kissing Britta Perry. Or, she was kissing him. He tried to keep up, and it was wonderful. There was a sense of relief that came from not having to take charge. Though he was otherwise occupied, he permitted a broad grin, and a small sigh of relief that lived in the freedom of knowing that Britta was powerful and strong. A fighter, in every sense.

He would have to catch up with reality, eventually. The solace of a kiss was not a permanent comfort. Soon, very soon, someone would pull away, and he'd face her eyes. Those sad eyes, those amazing eyes. The eyes that told Troy that maybe she wanted him, too. That maybe she didn't want to wait, either.

He would drink in her sadness, swallow it as one swallowed something bitter and cold, and pour his heart into a smile. And she would smile, too, but her eyes would be sad, and his heart would break. Because he didn't like making anyone said. And he especially didn't like making Britta sad.

But the waiting was always the hardest part. No one liked to wait, no one liked the idea of growing old, growing apart, wasting time, burning daylight. Life was so short, so indefinite, so impermanent. There was no telling how much time was left. Waiting was not a pleasurable game. But the waiting always passed.

Soon, the real world would pull them both back into its orbit. Soon, he would have to find Abed, and maybe help clean up the cafeteria. Soon, he would have to buy groceries, and make his bed, and do his laundry, and watch movies. He'd watch Abed make shwarma for dinner—one of his favourites—and he'd help Annie do the dishes while she pried him for gossip. Life would slip back into a groove.

But what about Britta? Where would she go? Home, probably. She, too, had a whole life outside of Greendale. A life, and responsibilities.

Reality would take hold, as it always did. Whimsy would fade, and the kisses would lapse into memories that cropped up at the taste of cherries. As sure as the sun would rise and set, as sure as the study group would be together forever, relative normalcy would reign supreme.

But in that moment, a shared moment that he was assured they would not be the last of its kind, Troy Barnes felt like the world was as full and bright and colorful as the most radiant summer's day.

* * *

**A/N: So that's it! Sorry for the delay, school's been a mess lately. I know it's not the typical ending where the girl and the guy ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after, and I know it's pretty open-ended, but I wanted to write something that could plausibly work within the framework of canon. Considering the fact that this started out as a 500 word one-shot about Troy's reaction to Abed's email, I'd say this went pretty well.**

**This is the song Pierce is playing when Troy and Britta run to each other and hug. I thought it would be appropriately sitcom-esque. watch?v=Xvh9NFzUqwM**

**This was sort of my set up for "Origins of Vampire Mythology" and then "Virtual Systems Analysis". I see those two as a part of the whole "he's growing up for her" theory. I also wrote in a foreshadowing of Abed's angst at the thought of losing Troy (I wrote his internal narration to sort of parallel the concerns of people who don't like Troy/Britta as a ship). Idk, maybe I'll write a continuation in that same vein.**

**Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed. As usual, your reviews are appreciated. I love all the reviewers who've been so kind to me, you're all brilliant! I really wish I could reply to you guys, but you're all anon! I would PM you, if I could! :)**

**I'll be back with more fic before you know it, Human Beings! :D Broy FTW! **

**Check out my tumblr!: .com **


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